


It takes two to mango

by sarahcakes613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, dating apps, produce puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Brienne's stuck on a train for while, so she may as well try her hand at this whole dating app thing.





	It takes two to mango

It’s a terrible idea and she’s got no idea why she let Renly talk her into it. The thought of her, trying to find love with a dating app. It’s tragically comical, like dogs walking on their hind legs, or ruining a perfectly good pizza by adding pineapple. All the same, she’s gone and done it and now here she is, killing time by swiping through the promised hot locals in your area! and wishing she’d gone with the six-hour flight instead of the 20 hours she has already been on this godsforsaken train, not to mention the 10 hours still to go.

The train was her father’s idea, a chance for her to see the continent in all it’s late-summer glory before starting her first semester at Winterfell University. It had seemed like a good idea in theory, she’s never travelled much beyond the Stormlands, and the train berths are better suited for her tall frame than a plane’s would have been. She hadn’t considered the complete and utter boredom she’d face after the first 500 miles. She’s already read the first chapter in each of her new textbooks, she’s mentally arranged her dorm room, she’s sent off an introductory email to her future dormmate, she’s completed nearly an entire book of crossword puzzles, and watched two episodes of The Secret Life of Wombats on Netflix. 

She’s not expecting much as she swipes, the app uses a combination of GPS and other filters to constantly update and so most of her options have been men living in the vicinity of each train station she’s stopped at. She’s alarmed, therefore, when she gets a notification from her phone that someone has swiped right on her profile, and whoever he is, he’s less than a mile from her location. She taps on his avatar to see a bigger version, and is pleasantly surprised when it loads, showing her something other than the frat boys and suits she’s mostly been seeing.

He's properly ginger, hair and full beard the shade of orangey-red she associates with autumn and the sassafras trees on Tarth. He is facing the camera, his expression open, warm, like a playful corgi. Her phone pings again, and she sees that the ginger – user name illbeyourgiantsbae – has sent her a message. She opens it, and it’s a string of pineapple emojis, followed by another message that reads “if you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple!”

Brienne rolls her eyes, but can’t stop a blush crawling up her neck. She slumps down in her seat, fighting the urge to peek into the aisle and see if this “illbeyourgiantsbae” is in her car, is looking at her this very moment. Her fingers hover over her phone as she tries to sort out how to reply. Renly would probably respond with some sort of salacious comment, but any that come to mind sound wrong even in her head. She contemplates just not replying, but what if he is in her car and then she runs into him on the way to the lav, and he realises she’s ignoring him? Before she can think of a reply, he has sent her two more messages, this time a row of cucumber emojis and the line “if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber!”

This time she can’t stop a slightly undignified snort escaping her nose, even as the blush rises further up her neck. He’s got a theme going, and if she’s being honest, it’s kind of working for her. A reply finally comes to her, and she types and sends it before she has a chance to regret it. A line of banana and corn emojis, and “I gotta be honest, these corny lines are pretty appeeling!” She grins to herself and then freezes when she hears a low grumbling laugh coming from somewhere behind her seat.

She cautiously leans her head towards the aisle, straining her eyes to try and peer around the seat-back without giving away her position. She sees a shock of orange sticking up across the way and four rows back. The only other bit of him she can see is a slouched leg sticking out into the aisle. It’s clad in dusty denim and ends in a hiking boot with tattered laces. She tucks herself back into her seat and looks at her phone. He hasn’t replied. Maybe the laugh wasn’t him? She once again remonstrates herself for being talked into this.

She’s interrupted from her self-flagellation by a rumbled cough above her head and a citrus shoved in front of her nose. She looks up and sees him standing there, not quite six feet of denim and hiking boots and a fair isle sweater. Up close, his face is sharper, his nose hawkish and his eyes are twinkling in that way that remind her of the song her father would sing, “when Myrish eyes are smiling”. He thrusts the citrus towards her again, and she looks at him in confusion.

He grins, and says “Orange you glad we’re on the same train?”


End file.
